The Finger of Fate: A Romance

“By this will,” I said, addressing myself to the solicitor, “it appears that Henry Harding becomes the sole inheritor of the Beechwood property?”

“It is certain,” answered he; “all but the thousand-pound legacy, and the life-annuity.”

“It will be a surprise for Mr Nigel.”

“Ah! and Mr Woolet too. They did all they could to keep me from advertising for the lost legatee. Of course, they supposed I did so in order to pay him the paltry thousand pounds. Mr Nigel may now have that, and see how far it will cover Woolet’s costs. My word! it will be an explosion! And now for the first steps towards bringing it about.”

“How do you intend to proceed?”

The lawyer looked at me, as if hesitating to answer the question.

“Excuse me,” I said; “I asked rather out of curiosity than otherwise.”

“There you are wrong, good sir. Pardon me for being plain with you. You have the legal authority to act for him.”

“That,” I said, “was only under the supposition that he was to receive a legacy of a thousand pounds. With an estate, as you say, worth a hundred thousand pounds, the affair takes a different shape, and clearly goes beyond my discretionary powers. Though I cannot act as a principal in the matter, I am willing to help you every way I can. I feel sufficiently indebted to your client to do so.”

“And that is just what I intended asking you. Hence my hesitation in replying to your question. I am glad to know that we can count on your assistance. No doubt, we shall need it. Men don’t yield up possession of a hundred thousand without showing fight. We may expect all that, and some questionable strategy besides, from such a fellow as Woolet – a thorough scoundrel – without one jot of principle!”

“But how can they dispute this will?” I asked. “It seems clear enough, and of course you know it to have been the latest and last.”

“Signed by General Harding the day before he died. Regularly and carefully attested – you see the names upon it. They cannot dispute the document.”

“What then?”

“Ah! what then? That is just the point I think it will turn upon the identity of our claimant. By the way, what does the young fellow look like? Is he much altered in appearance since he left England?”

“That question I cannot answer.”

“Indeed! It is but two months since you have seen him.”

“True; but I may almost say I then saw him for the first time. I had met him six years before, but only on one or two occasions, and had lost all remembrance of his looks.”

“He was very young,” pursued the solicitor in soliloquy, – “a mere boy when that unfortunate affair occurred. After all, perhaps, not so unfortunate! No doubt, he will be much changed. A captivity among brigands – fighting on barricades – a beard – the tan of a South American sun – to say nothing of getting married – no doubt, the Henry Harding of to-day is entirely unlike the Henry Harding who left home six years ago. My word! there might be a difficulty in identifying him, and we may dread the worst. People nowadays can be had to swear anything – that black’s blue, or even white, if it’s wanted – and money enough to pay for the perjury. In this case there will be both money and a determination to use it. Woolet won’t stick at anything; nor will Mr Nigel Harding either – to say nothing of Mrs Nigel and her amiable mother. We’re sure to have a fight, sir – sure of it.”

“You don’t appear to have much fear about the result?”

I said this, noticing that the lawyer talked with an air of triumphant confidence, besides having used the conditional tense when speaking of the chances of his client being identified.

“Not the slightest – not the slightest. I don’t apprehend any difficulty. There might have been; but I fancy I have a scheme to set all right. Never mind, sir; you shall be told of it in good time. And now for citing all parties into Court.”

“But do you mean to do that now?”

“Of course not; oh no. I was only speaking figuratively. The first thing is to get Mr Henry Harding here, – he must be sent for immediately. Let me see: Estancia Torreani, Rosario. Up the Parana River, you say. With your kind directions, sir, my own son shall start for South America at once. It’s a long way, but no matter for that. A hundred thousand pounds is worth going round the world for more than once. And now, sir, I will make request for two favours: one, that you will write to your friend, Mr Henry Harding, telling him what you have learnt. My son can carry your letter along with other instructions. The other favour I would ask is, that you give your word to keep this affair a secret until – well, until Mr Henry Harding himself appears upon the ground.”

Of course the promise was given – as also the directions to serve Lawson junior on his Transatlantic itinerary; and leaving my address, so that Lawson senior could at any time communicate with me, I took my departure from Lincoln’s Inn Fields, rejoiced, as well as surprised, at the discovery I had made.

Chapter Sixty Five

The Finger of Fate

In less than six months from the date of my interview with the Lincoln’s Inn lawyer, there occurred in the London courts a trial of more than usual interest.

It was a case of contested will – no very uncommon thing. But in that to which I refer, there were circumstances of a peculiar, I might say very peculiar, kind. These, with the position of the parties concerned, rendered the suit worthy of being placed among the records of causes célèbres.

It was the case of “Harding versus Harding;” the defendant being Nigel Harding, Esq, of Beechwood Park, Buckinghamshire; the plaintiff, a Mr Henry Harding, who claimed to be his half-brother.

The matter in dispute was an estate, valued at one hundred thousand pounds, of which defendant was in possession. He held it by a will – that of General Harding, his father, and former owner of the property – made some twelve months before the General’s death, and at the same time duly signed and attested.

It had been drawn up by a country attorney, named Woolet; and signed by himself and his clerk, acting as witnesses to the testator.

It gave the whole of General Harding’s estate to his elder son, Nigel, with the exception of one thousand pounds, to his other and younger son, Henry, and an annuity of two hundred to the General’s sister.

So far the document seemed quite correct – except in the strangeness of the unequal distribution. But there were reasons for this; and no one disputed the genuineness of the instrument. The question was one of an alleged later testament; which, if also proved genuine, would have the effect of setting aside Woolet’s will, by a complete change of terms. By the second will, the estate was bestowed on the younger son, and the one thousand pounds given to the elder!

The strange transposal was, however, coupled with a condition also strange. It appeared, by the citing of the second will, that the younger brother was abroad when it was made, and not only abroad, but supposed to be dead.

A doubt of his death must have been in the testator’s mind, leading him to insert the condition: which was to the effect, that in the event of his younger son’s return he was to enter upon quiet possession of the property – all of it, excepting the aforesaid legacy of one thousand pounds!

He had returned; at least, so alleged the plaintiff, who claimed to be Henry Harding, the legatee of the second will.

But he was not admitted into “quiet possession,” according to the words of the will. On the contrary the case was going to be contested with all the legal strength and strategy that on both aides could be brought to bear upon it.

On the part of the defence, there was no attempt to disprove the genuineness of the second will. It had been made by a lawyer of the highest respectability, who was ready to prove it.

The point turned upon the question of identity; the defendant denying that the plaintiff was his half-brother, or in any way entitled to relationship.

There was no proof that Henry Harding was dead – only the presumption; and to strengthen this, the defendant’s counsel – imprudently, as it afterwards turned out – exhibited certain letters written by the real Henry Harding as he called him – showing that he had been captive to a band of Italian brigands, who threatened to take his life, unless a ransom should be paid for him.

It was proved that this ransom was not paid; that it had been sent; but, as the defence alleged, too late. The plaintiff’s own witnesses were compelled to testify to this.

The presumption, therefore, was that the bandits, speaking through their chief, Corvino, had carried out their threat.

This was the impression produced upon “twelve men, good and true,” after an eloquent speech made by an eminent counsel, to whom the defendant’s solicitors had entrusted the conduct of their case.

On the plaintiff’s side, a story had been told that appeared altogether incredible. It was preposterous to suppose – as thought twelve English tradesmen – that the son of an English gentleman of wealth and standing should voluntarily take to the profession of painting pictures, and afterwards exile himself to such a country as South America: there to stay, forgetting his fine estate at home, till the merest accident gave him cause to remember it! They could have believed in such self-banishment in one of their own sons; but the son of a general, a county squire, the owner of a large landed estate – the thing was not to be credited!

They could give credence to the brigand part of the tale, though that too seemed queer to them. But the story of the self-exile – leaving an estate unclaimed! The plaintiff’s counsel might tell that to the marines!

So stood the case, after several days spent in the questioning and cross-questioning of witnesses, and the trial was approaching its termination.

All the testimony which the plaintiff’s counsel could produce was not sufficient to establish his identity. It could not convince a British jury, that the sun-embrowned and bearded young man, set forth as the claimant of Beechwood Park, was the son of its former proprietor; while the pale, silent gentleman, who now held possession of it, undoubtedly was.

Possession has been said to be nine points of the law. Coupled with wealth, it is generally so in the eyes of legal gentlemen, and often of juries.

The plaintiffs case appeared hopeless. Notwithstanding all that is known to the reader, it trembled on the edge of being decreed an attempt at usurpation, and he himself declared an attempted usurper and defrauder.

The trial had reached this crisis, and was expected soon to terminate.